Broken Soul
by DCFanatic4life
Summary: He's tried to hold it all together, but sometimes you can only hold on for so long before everything comes crashing down. Chris Jericho is about to crash. Chris/Steph...


**Disclaimer: I do not own the real people or characters portrayed in this story, the characters belong to WWE and the real people own themselves. I also do not own any songs that may pop up in this story, Fozzy does. Also, as a warning, there are adult situations and what not in this story so you've been warned.

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A/N: Okay, so I was listening to Fozzy's new album "Chasing the Grail" and the song "Broken Soul" just hit me really hard in the gut. It's a really beautiful song and I knew I wanted to write a story about it. Reading the CD jacket it said that the original lyrics were much darker and that coupled with the song gave me this story. This will be a 3-parter only, I don't think I'll be persuaded to do anymore, so just know that it's not going to be long.

Also, this is a departure from some of my normal stuff and this is not a reflection on anything I feel is going on in real life, just an interpretation of the song as I see fit. It's darker than anything I've written before I think and well, you'll see I guess when you read it. Anyways, I really hope that it's okay and that you enjoy it. I'd love to get some reviews, especially because this is way out of my comfort zone and if you want to be brutal, I'm okay with that. Anyways, enough with the talking and more with the reading. :)

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Everyone has their vices.

Chris glanced at Stephanie as she lay on the bed. She was passed out or close to it. Her eyes were drooped to nearly closing, fluttering almost imperceptibly every few seconds, but never quite opening and never quite closing. She had a satiated smile on her face, her head nodded off to the side and her hair splayed around her. Her right hand was hanging off the bed and in it, an almost empty bottle of vodka was clutched, fingers coiled around the neck, as if letting go was not possible, like the bottle had grafted itself to her hand and on most nights that was the case. Destructive wasn't even the word for her behavior, more like destructed in the past tense.

Chris laughed at that, but it was a hollow one that didn't reach his eyes. The remnants of the bottle were dripping onto the floor and the smell was permeating the room. In the morning, it would smell like Stephanie usually did. The sick smell of old liquor would linger in the air like it lingered on her skin, like dried sweat after a long run. Oh well, he didn't care what she did. If she wanted to drink, she could drink. That was the trade-off, he didn't judge her and she didn't judge him. Stephanie had destructed, completely, but if Stephanie was destructed then Chris was something else entirely.

He turned back to the task at hand. He needed his hit and he needed it bad. The last one had worn off and he just needed another one, just one more for the night. That's what he promised himself. He'd just need one more and when he crashed, he'd sleep. He grabbed the powdery substance that he'd just crushed and started pouring it onto Stephanie's stomach. She didn't notice too much, being as drunk as she was didn't exactly give her that sharp mind she usually possessed. She wasn't vomiting and she was breathing so he didn't much care how drunk she was. Her stomach convulsed a little as he arranged the powder into a straight line, starting right above her belly button and ending just below her breasts.

His preferred method of ingestion was to smoke, but when Stephanie was lying tantalizingly naked in front of him, there was something so perverse about snorting off her naked body. It was one of the most erotic things he could think to do to her. Then, when that sweet substance absorbed its way into his membranes and brain and body, she was right there for him, like a goddess lying in a golden field. The feeling right after he took his hit was like his entire body just orgasming in a moment, bright colors, a sense of full awareness and when that feeling came over him, the first place he wanted to be was inside Stephanie.

She was too drunk to say no and even if she was completely sober, she wouldn't care. She loved the sex almost as much as he did. When she was drunk, she'd rip his clothes off and grab him, stroking him quickly and then nearly pulling him inside, begging to feel him, all of him. He'd comply and because he was usually high, he'd thrust into her so fast it must feel like lightning to her body, quick flashes of himself inside of her, the smack of his pelvis against hers. Fast, quick, dirty, and that was just the way they liked it.

Now he knew that drugs were bad. Had to hear it from that little shit Punk all the damn time. At least that little asshole didn't go out to the fans and preach his bullshit. If Punk could feel for one second what he felt after he took a hit, he'd be into it as well. But he wasn't an addict, not by any means. He didn't do this shit at home. He knew better. His daughter had found his stash one day, had gone through his bag thinking he had candy in there and she'd pulled it out, toddling over to him and asking him if it were candy. He'd snatched it out of her hand and hid it before his wife found out. So no, he didn't use at home and he was in total control of his little…habit. That's all it was, a habit. He wasn't an addict and he could quit at any time.

He just liked the feeling. He liked the feeling of euphoria that it gave him. He'd only been using since he came back to the WWE so it wasn't like he was a long time user. Not an addict, definitely not an addict. He just liked the feeling, that was all, he just liked the feeling, but he could quit, hell, he did quit every time he went home. His wife would hate it, he knew that, so he didn't do it around her. Not much anyways. Sometimes the pressure of being a father and a husband and a wrestler got to be too much and he'd go into the bathroom and snort. He couldn't smoke it in the house, she'd find out, so snorting was the only option. But that was only sometimes, not all the time. He wasn't an addict.

That's why he liked Stephanie. She understood him. He didn't much remember the first time they fell into bed together. They must have been drunk, but then, she was drunk pretty much all the time. The pressures of her job were too much. There was too much to do, so much to think about that, like him, she needed something to turn to. Her choice was drink. She loved the way it tasted she said. She loved the different varieties, she loved that you could be spontaneous and just stick this alcohol with this one and come up with something on the fly. She liked that and one night, it ended up with both of them in bed.

He didn't regret it and neither did she. They liked their arrangement. Chris never thought to ask where Paul thought she was, but that was because they usually didn't talk much. She'd drink and he'd be high and they'd have sex and then fall into bed and wake up feeling like shit. They were lucky their jobs were at night because it gave them the entire day to recover. They lie in bed, moaning (not the good kind) but they'd eventually drag themselves out of bed and go about their day.

He closed his nostril and leaned down to her stomach. Down here, away from her mouth, she smelled like lemon verbena. He liked that smell. He took a moment to take that in and then he descended his nose to that line of white powder and sniffed, moving his head until his cheek pressed against the underside of her breast. It only took a few moments before his eyes widened and that feeling overtook him. He started breathing heavily, like he'd just run a marathon, but it was just the adrenaline rush running through him. He felt like every cell in his body was alive and sizzling. God, this feeling made everything he went through worth it.

He lifted his head a little, turning to the right and running his tongue along Stephanie's breast. When he was high, everything tasted different, more profound, deeper, layered. He felt like he was tasting Stephanie's very essence and God, it was the most addicting flavor. If he was addicted to anything, it was this. He licked his way closer and closer to her nipple and then swirled his tongue around it before nipping at it. She arched almost involuntarily. Her drunkenness did nothing to curb her arousal. He heard her moan lightly and he could barely wait and he threw his leg over hers and started kissing up her neck, finding her mouth when he reached it and kissing her.

He heard the bottle drop from her hand with a muted thud and her arms banded around his. She was barely conscious, but her body knew what to do as she started to kiss him back. She arched against him and he felt her wetness pressing against his abdomen. She was ready for him and damn if he wasn't ready for her. He brought his fingers down to her sex and slipped a couple fingers inside. They had sex before she got piss drunk and she was still wet from before it seemed, but as he fingered her frantically, almost brutally, he felt a new gush of wetness and he pulled his fingers out and sucked on his fingers, the heady taste igniting his passion even more and he felt stiffer, if that were even possible at this point. He needed to be inside her, but he first bent his head down, licking at her like a cat. He only kept at it for a few seconds before his body _needed_ more. It needed her tightness wrapped around him.

He grabbed himself and guided himself into her, sinking into that warmth. When he was high and inside of her, there was nothing better in this universe. Everything was heightened and that made the experience that much better, sweeter, hotter. She started to rouse, just enough to where her legs wrapped around his torso, pushing her pelvis up and offering up an angle that made her cry out in little mewls of pleasure at first, then louder and louder until they were nearly screams.

He closed his eyes as he continued to pound into her, her body moving with his. He got lost in the experience of being with her. He liked getting lost. It took him away from the real world, where he had to play the rules. He had the weight of his world on the shoulders most of the time, but right now, he didn't have to be anyone. In fact, he didn't even _feel_ like anyone. He felt like just a body, a thing, this primal being that had nothing but this moment to live in and he was taking the most of this moment and holding onto it and looking at it like this beautiful orb because every moment is like an orb, isolated, floating, a mass of something, but ultimately, it'll fade away…

"Stephanie wants to talk to you."

Chris looked up. He'd been rubbing his temples, his hands twitching a little bit. He was able to control it though. He had to work tonight and then he was going home tomorrow. He'd make it, he always did before. He didn't want to admit it, but it was getting harder and harder to go longer without the comfort of a good fix. He wasn't an addict or anything, it's just that his life was getting more stressful. He had a book to worry about and wrestling, wife, kids, mistress, music, appearances, it got to be a lot and sometimes he needed to take the edge off, that was all. That was his only reason for doing coke anyways. He just needed to keep going and it helped, it was like an aid, a salve, something he didn't need, but it wasn't like it was hurting him. He didn't feel hurt and he never really went anywhere while he was high so there was no problem of getting in trouble.

"Chris, did you hear me, Stephanie McMahon wants to talk to you," Adam said.

Chris nodded, "I heard you."

"Okay, she said she needed to speak to you immediately."

"I'm there," Chris said, standing up and leaving the locker room. He left and started towards her office. His hand was still shaking a little so he stuck it in his pocket before he got to her office. He knocked on the door and she called for him to enter. He pushed the door open and Paul was in there, sitting on the desk, facing her. He glanced over his shoulder and rolled his eyes. He usually did when he saw Chris. Chris wanted to laugh at the look and tell him he was doing his wife. He looked to Stephanie. She was looking polished as usual. She always did manage to clean herself up well. You'd never know she spent most of her nights passed out and sexed up.

He hated seeing the two of them together. It just reminded him that Paul was constantly trying to hold him down. Ever since he'd come into the company Paul had had a problem with him. It wasn't until three years into his WWF tenure that Chris found out that Kevin Nash of all people had called Paul and warned him about Chris's talent, told him to protect his spot. He'd been protecting that spot ever since, even going so far as to marry the boss's daughter. That smug bastard had snatched up Stephanie before anyone got a chance with her. Just snatched her up…he could feel his hand shaking against and he balled it into a fist.

"Chris, so glad to see you, I wanted to talk with you," she told him in her professional voice, the one she only used with company. "Paul, if you'd excuse us."

"Yeah, sure," Paul said, glaring at Chris as he passed. "See you later, baby."

"Bye," she called out half-heartedly and when Paul closed the door she sighed and looked at him, "Have a seat, Chris."

"Where does he think you are at night?" Chris felt compelled to ask. He remembered thinking it the night before and so he asked it. He just wanted to know.

"I tell him that because I work so late, it's better if we have separate rooms while we're on the road so I don't keep him and the girls up."

"Good lie," he muttered, sitting down. "So what is it?"

"You failed another drug test," she told him matter-of-factly. He wanted to say he was surprised, but he wasn't.

This was his fifth failed drug test.

Stephanie usually covered them up. She'd tell him of course, tell him to be more careful. She gave him warnings as to when the drug tests would come, but he'd usually spend the night with her before the drug tests and that was prime time for him. He couldn't help it. It wasn't like he was deliberately trying to fail them. This was a perk of being with the boss's daughter. She covered them up. He'd never been suspended…and people said he didn't play politics. That was a lie. He played them and played them masterfully. He'd be out on his ass a long time ago if he didn't.

"I see."

"Chris, what have I told you?" she said, rubbing her temples, indicating to him that she was still as hungover as she'd been this morning. "I _tell_ you when the drug tests are happening and yet you keep failing them. It's hard for me to get the fake drug results for you. I have to pay through the goddamn nose for them so your…habit doesn't get out. The least you can do is not take a hit right before a drug test. If my dad finds out that you've failed as many as you have…if the _fans_ do, Chris, do you understand?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry," he said, trying to sound as sincere as possible. He didn't want to make her angry. "I promise I won't do it again."

She didn't believe him, he knew it, but she didn't say anything, "Fine, go away."

"Are you coming to my room tonight?" he asked, pictures of himself with his head between her thighs dancing through his mind.

"No, I'm spending the night with Paul tonight."

"Okay, fine," Chris said, shrugging. God, he could use a hit right now, like right this second right now. But he had to work tonight. He couldn't…no, he couldn't do it while working.

Wait, why _couldn't_ he do it while working? He was always still cognizant while he was high. It even gave him a second consciousness. Sure, he could wrestle, he'd probably be _better_ than he usually was. Hell, he would probably have the match of his life! He had some stashed away in his bag. He could go to the bathroom, lock the door and take a line right there. It'd take five seconds, maybe even less and then he'd be good to go. That was sounding so good right now. This wasn't an addiction, he just realized that he could be a better wrestler without taking steroids, how was that an addiction? It was just common sense.

"You can go now," she told him.

"Leaving," he said, turning and heading straight back to the locker room. He snatched the little bag that held his stash and made a beeline for the bathroom. Just five seconds and he'd feel so good.

Just five seconds until he'd feel alive.


End file.
